CHAPTER ONE

      SOPHIE’s father put down his newspaper long enough to look at her. ‘If you go out this evening I do not want a repeat of yesterday,’ he said sternly. ‘We have guests arriving this afternoon and I wouldn’t like them to witness a scene like last night’s.’

      Sophie pouted sulkily. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’

      He looked sceptical. ‘And just whose fault would you say it was? Mine? Your stepmother’s? We weren’t the ones trying to creep into the house at two o’clock in the morning.’

      Sophie gave up all pretence of trying to look as if she were eating her breakfast. ‘I’d been to a party, you knew I was going to it.’

      Her stepmother pursed her lips. ‘But not the time of morning you’d be arriving home. Really, Simon, this roaming about the countryside at all hours of the day and night will have to stop. After all, Sophie is only nineteen.’

      Simon Bedford sighed, beginning to wish now that he hadn’t brought the subject up. ‘I know, Rosemary, I know, and I’ve already made my opinion concerning Sophie’s actions last night very clear. And I trust her to see that it doesn’t happen again.’

      ‘I should hope so,’ sniffed her stepmother. ‘Why on earth she has to mix with those—those ruffians, I have no idea. Goodness knows we’ve tried to introduce her to the right sort of people.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ Sophie’s mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘People like Nicholas Sedgwick-Jones. He’s about as exciting as a cold rice pudding!’

      Her mother’s eyes snapped angrily, china blue eyes set in a beautiful doll-like face. Rosemary Bedford was small and delicately made, her appearance belied by the streak of ruthlessness predominant in her personality. At thirty-six she looked much younger than her years, often being mistaken for Sophie’s older sister instead of her stepmother. She had married Simon Bedford when only eighteen to his already thirty-seven, and she had exploited his love for her to the full, until now, eighteen years later, that love had turned to amused tolerance. Simon had soon come to realise that his main attraction to his young wife had been the money he possessed in abundance. And he had also realised that he couldn’t hope to compete with the younger men his wife amused herself with from time to time, and had soon even given up trying to do so.

      Their marriage might not be the idealistic thing he had expected it to be when they first married, but at least he had Sophie from his first marriage. Of course he and Rosemary had expected to have children of their own, he desperately wanted a son to carry on the family name and fortune, but year after year had passed with no sign of the desired child, and now they had given up hope of there ever being one.

      ‘Nicholas is a very nice young man,’ Rosemary insisted. ‘And he likes you.’

      ‘The feeling isn’t reciprocated,’ Sophie said scathingly. ‘He’s boring, pompous and egotistical. He only asks me out because he’s after Daddy’s money. Everyone knows the Sedgwick-Jones are broke.’

      ‘Sophie!’ her stepmother’s voice rose shrilly. ‘Your father didn’t pay for you to go to a private school so that you could come out with things like “as exciting as a cold rice pudding”, and “broke”. You’ve been taught how to talk properly, please do so.’

      ‘Oh, Mummy, you know I’m right about Nicholas. All he can talk about is his boring old farm.’

      Rosemary gave her stepdaughter a cool look. ‘I’m sure his conversation is preferable to anything those hooligans you call friends have to say. Their main topics of conversation seem to be fashion and sex—and not always in that order,’ her nose wrinkled her distaste. ‘And look at you—you even look like them!’

      Sophie was aware that her stepmother didn’t approve of her long blonde hair being worn loose, or her choice of denims and tight sweaters as suitable clothing. And she didn’t approve of the friends Sophie had made at the local college either, but she refused to give them up, no matter what the pressures might be.

      She shrugged. ‘Everyone looks like this at college.’

      ‘Exactly! You should make an effort to remember who you are. Just think of your father’s humiliation when he sees the people you go about with.’ Rosemary sighed. ‘Well, at least make sure you behave yourself in front of our weekend guests. A lot of them won’t understand your need to rebel in this way.’

      ‘Who’s coming?’ asked Sophie.

      ‘Just a few friends, about a dozen or so.’ Rosemary studied her painted nails. ‘Luke Vittorio has agreed to come down.’

      Simon gave her a sharp look. ‘I didn’t know that.’

      His wife smiled at him brightly. ‘I thought I’d told you, darling. He’s bringing that girl he’s going about with at the moment.’